Room Service
by Lala Kate
Summary: Tease, Dinner, Champagne...Hmmmmmmm...
1. Chapter 1

_Prompt: MM, tease, dinner, champagne. I hope you enjoy!_

_I do not own Downton Abbey, but I love writing about it so very much. :) Thoughts and reviews always appreciated. _

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"Celebrating something?"

She throws him a glance over her shoulder, and he motions towards the bottle of champagne in her hands.

"Yes," she answers smoothly, tossing him a coy grin. "My divorce."

The woman in front of her sniffs audibly, shaking her head in silent disapproval before the bell sounds and the lift doors open, allowing the lady to exit and leaving her and Mr. Blue Eyes completely alone.

"Are you planning on drinking all of that by yourself?"

She turns towards him just so, licking her lips as she looks him over. No ring, she notes to herself. Of course, they slide off as easily they go on, and fit quite comfortably in men's wallets, as do other items wives are not supposed to find.

"It's safer that way," she muses, the lift's second stop jostling them closer together.

"Perhaps," he muses. "But certainly not as much fun." His gaze falls quietly before those eyes capture hers once again. "I've been there. My divorce was final just over a year ago."

"Ah," she breathes, knowing he could be lying to her but somehow sensing he isn't.

She doesn't speak as the doors open, and she steps off into the carpeted hallway, not really surprised to see that he had done so, as well.

"Are you staying on this floor?" she asks as they stand facing opposite directions.

"Yes," he replies with a smile. "Room 709."

She laughs then, biting her lower lip as she looks back at him.

"I'm in 711," she volunteers. "Just across the hall."

"How convenient," he returns, his eyes turning a shade more suggestive. "May I suggest you not drink all of that on an empty stomach? I made that mistake once."

"That sounds like regret," she tosses back softly.

"Most assuredly," he grins, and she wonders if he is blushing as he falls in step beside her.

"I thought I might order room service," she offers. "So convenient when savory treats are delivered right to your door."

"Isn't it, though?" he hums, stopping just outside their rooms. "I was thinking of ordering room service, myself."

"Were you? What a coincidence."

"You know what they say about great minds," he muses, making no move to search for his key card.

"So what are you thinking?" she asks, enjoying how quickly his eyebrows move into his hairline. "Just to prove your theory about great minds."

He steps into her space, stroking the neck of the champagne bottle.

"I'm thinking that's good champagne," he replies with a shrug. "And it would be a shame for any of it to go to waste."

"How considerate of you," she returns, sidling up a bit closer.

"I'm the considerate type," he returns slyly, the texture of his voice rubbing her like warm leather. "In fact, I thought perhaps we could both be considerate and save room service a trip by placing an order together. Saves them time and energy, you know."

She nods, grinning in spite of herself.

"That is considerate," she hums. "But I somehow suspect ulterior motives."

The right corner of his mouth draws up.

"And I suspect you're a terrible tease," he challenges, her eyes flashing at his challenge.

"You're the one who has invited yourself over for dinner," she observes, nudging a lock of hair out of his face.

"And you're the one keeping us out in this hallway," he whispers, making her shiver from the neck down.

"You're rather forward, aren't you?" she questions as her skin begins to heat.

"There's always a first time for everything, I suppose," he admits, and there is no question now that he is blushing.

"So what do you want for dinner?" she questions, backing into her door as he follows in step.

"Well, I suppose we could start with conversation and an appetizer and go from there."

He is close now, close enough for his scent to tickle her pores and his proximity to render her unsteady.

"So you're in the mood for several courses," she manages, uncertain of what is pushing her into this half-crazed boldness.

"Well, we do have an entire bottle of champagne," he returns, stroking the bottle's neck, his eyes fixed on her. "I think it's better to enjoy it slowly. Don't you?"

His lips touch down then, soft with unanswered questions, warm with spicy hints of abandon.

"As long as you don't pop the cork prematurely," she grins as their mouths separate, pushing her door open as he follows her inside.


	2. Chapter 2

_I never intended to continue this, but here you go. I do hope you enjoy it! :D_

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She hears something, a noise she can't identify, and stretches languidly against the sheets, burrowing back into the pillow as her knee touches down on a thigh.

A thigh? A man's thigh? God—is that snoring she hears?

She props herself up as her eyes open in shock, and she blinks several times, taking in the smooth chest, the disheveled blonde hair, the mouth she begins to remember doing things between her thighs she can't quite believe she allowed on a first—

Shit. This wasn't even a first date. This is the stranger she met in the lift and invited into her hotel room after five minutes of flirtatious conversation. What the hell had she been thinking?

She feels slightly sore between her legs, nothing unpleasant but present all the same, and she blushes all over, laying back down and tugging the blankets up to her chin. Some good that will do now, she chastises herself, her muscles making it obvious to her they had enjoyed each other more than once. She rubs her temples, trying to remember more than fragments, smelling evidence of their antics on both her body and on his.

His mouth moves, and she stares at it again, recalling how it felt on her ear, on her neck, on her breast as he nipped and sucked her until she couldn't think. Shit, these memories aren't helping matters at all. They just make her want to cuddle up next to him and let him work her to an orgasm all over again.

How long has it been since she'd come at someone else's touch rather than her own? Too long. Far too long.

Until last night, that is.

She had faked it too often during her marriage and had been too repulsed by the thoughts of men in general after finding evidence of more than one affair on his part. But yesterday she'd felt liberated, ready to take on the world with divorce papers in hand, and she had tossed her wedding ring into the Thames, smiling broadly and laughing out loud. She had treated herself to lunch and the cinema and decided on a whim to buy a bottle of champagne and check into a hotel for the night.

And this is what had happened. The champagne bottle empty, another bottle of wine partially gone, and a night of wild sex she can barely remember. She rubs her aching temples with a sigh.

Either the noise or her movement stirs him and he rolls in her direction, one arm coming to lay across her stomach. Then his mouth moves into her shoulder and kisses her, though his eyes remain shut. She freezes, wishing she could remember his name as well as she could the color of his eyes. Blue. God, so blue it hurt. Is he still asleep, she wonders, as he settles back in and snores lightly yet again.

Should she try to sneak out and pretend this never happened? God, that would be easier if they were in his room instead of hers.

She rolls out from under his hold carefully, standing to her feet, shivering without the blankets as she searches for something to put on. She dresses as silently as she can, reasoning she can surely pack her one bag so quietly she doesn't disturb him, silently thanking fate that he is a heavy sleeper and she brought very little with her. Her hair is a wreck, but she doesn't let that stop her, sliding on her shoes and grabbing her purse and she tiptoes to the door. A click, a breath, and she is in the hallway, speed walking to the lift, afraid to look back.

The room card is turned in, her car brought around, and she drives home in silence, both congratulating herself on her exit and fighting off a disappointment she tries not to feel. Damn, he was good, this she knows, and she thinks he was funny and thoughtful, although most of their time together is still brushed over in a thick haze.

Oh well, she tells herself, she's better off without this complication, and she needs this time on her own. A man in her life will just make her lose herself, and that she cannot allow—not now, not again. Its better they didn't exchange phone numbers or personal information, at least she doesn't think that they did. No, this will simply be a night she tucks away and thinks about on occasion, a misstep into her new singleness, but a misstep she obviously enjoyed.

She walks into her house, sets her purse down and looks into it to place her keys inside its confines. Her breath catches, her mouth dries, as her hands begin to tremble in disbelief. Shit. Just shit.

She made it out of the hotel and back home undetected. But her wallet did not.


End file.
